Rapunzelish
by ShalottMuse
Summary: A twist on the classic tale of the girl locked in the tower. This Rapunzel is not all she appears, and woe betide any prince out to rescue her.


It was another cloudless day, typical of the season. I'd posed myself at the bay window, perched delicately on the ledge practicing my scales and sighing decorously at passing birds. The distant sound of hoof beats made me change my tune to a wistful love song, making full use of my considerable vocal range. As the sound grew louder I quickly checked my hair in the mirror on the opposite wall and put on my best professional smile; bright eyes, lit with laughter and a slight sensual tilt to my lips. Poor thing didn't stand a chance.

Right on cue, a richly dressed rider atop a handsome charger trotted out of the trees and into the clearing below. I surreptitiously watched him out of the corner of my eye as I pointedly maintained my candid carefree air, singing all the while as if to the birds and trees alone.

This one was exceptionally pretty. Not unusual for his type of course, but his eyes even at this distance seemed a much more vibrant shade of blue than the last few. His jaw was indeed straight and square, with a soft mouth currently gaping a little in something like love-struck awe. He wasn't as well muscled as yesterday's and his horse was certainly more of a dappled grey than the traditional gleaming white, but it leant him a kind of charming youthfulness. Come to think of it, he didn't look much more than sixteen, and none too bright either judging by his vacant expression. This one might not even need a second visit. Time to reel him in then.

I turned my head, and catching sight of him, feigned surprise; a tiny gasp, hand lightly flying to mouth just as it shaped a delicate 'O'. I made as if to flee back into the tower room, but paused as he called out to me in typical romantic fashion.

"No please! Wait! I beg you wait! Don't go."

I coyly leaned against the window frame peeking down at him, eyes wide in curious wonder, lips still softly parted and slightly puckered to show off their fullness. He'd dismounted, and was slowly approaching the base of the tower. He held his arms away from his body, hands out, as if trying to ease a startled doe. I flicked my eyes from his earnest pleading ones to his belt. No sword. Wow, he really was green to wandering these parts without a weapon close at hand. Innocent was definitely the way to play this one.

"Please miss. Don't go. I only came because I heard your singing. You sounded so beautiful I… I felt I could fly if only I had your voice in my ears. Won't you come down? It would be my dearest joy if you were to favour me with your company."

A poet a heart it seemed, though not a particularly inspired one. And if the look of rapturous joy was anything to go on, he really meant it too. Very young then. Perhaps this was his first time out in the wide world, off to prove himself to mumsy and papa, and earn whatever title he was set to inherit. God, I hated the young ones. They always made me feel worse about the job. At least you could pretend the older ones deserved it.

Coming away from the frame at last I leaned over the windowsill, biting my lip in apparently sincere concern. "You don't understand, you mustn't stay here. She'll be back soon. And I cannot be caught speaking with you or we'll both be in a world of trouble."

Here I let my eyes tear up; just a little bit, didn't want to overdo it. It seemed to do the trick though. His smile turned to a thin frown as he began to recognise the story I was setting for him. I could see his jaw hardening in determination and he spoke his next line in his best approximation of masculine authority.

"Who is this 'she'? Is she holding you prisoner here? It is against the laws of this land to hold any freeborn innocent person against their will, and I, Prince Augustine IV, heir to King Albert and Queen Sophie, ruling sovereigns of this good green country hereby pledge to aid you fair maiden, for in my sight no wrong shall go un… uh… righted?" He seemed to lose the thread of his speech here. He'd clearly been forced to memorise it at some point; I suspected they all were. One of last week's had a similar spiel, though his was far longer than this hapless lad's.

I sniffed softly and wiped my tears away with a dainty lace handkerchief. "Oh, but it's impossible! I've lived all my life here; there's no way out of this room save for this very window, and the thorns at the base of the tower would surely kill me if I were to escape this way!" I tried to configure my expression into one of slightly vacant woefulness. This was not one of my better faces, but hopefully all the practice I'd been putting in recently would pay off.

He smiled up at me glowing with pride and untried confidence. "Never fear my Lady. I will liberate you from this tower! See here, there is a break in the thorns. I shall climb up to you and assist you out the window. You should be able to descend with my help."

He smiled at me again, a lopsided grin dripping with sincerity. This was going to painful to watch.

Not waiting for any further encouragement from me, he immediately set about climbing the brickwork from the conveniently thornless patch beneath the window. Despite his obvious inexperience, he was an agile climber. He easily followed the trail of subtly jutting bricks halfway up the tower and was making swift inroads on the smoother, trickier ground of the middle section. I knew I should look away, I knew what was coming. I knew that it wasn't going to pretty and there was no point in me watching the inevitable happen. Again.

He was nearly in arms reach of the windowsill. Another few feet and he'd be safe. He was climbing slower now. His hands cautiously testing holds before transferring his weight, but they were getting more and more difficult to find. There was one brick jutting out of the wall below the sill. He made to reach for it, sure that his questing fingers would find its solid weight. So sure, he was already leaning his other hand up ready to grab the windowsill and pull himself up. He teetered dangerously for a moment as he stood on tiptoes grasping for the brick, hands outstretched, fingers just about to clasp the rough stone. His hands passed through the illusion and met with the glassy smooth texture of the upper tower. Finding no hold, he began to fall.

I saw, as I had many times before, the split second where he realized my subterfuge. He looked up at me as he fell, seeing on my once guileless face only a sad heavy acceptance. He was confused, hurt even, and then he was dead. Lying bonelessly across the thorn thicket, bleeding on to the new spring grass. I could see flashes of his pale chest through his shredder tunic. It matched the thin piece of bone poking out of the arm that broke his fall.


End file.
